


my homework was never quite like this

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [28]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Side B of 1984 finally starts, the telltale clacking of fingers against a keyboard piercing through her concentration.Nicole looks up and feels her mouth go dry. “What… What’re you doing?”





	my homework was never quite like this

**Author's Note:**

> An M rating today, folks, in fall of 1994 in the 80′s Mixtape AU.

**“Hot for Teacher” Van Halen, 1984**   
_ Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad. I’m hot for teacher. I got it bad, so bad. I’m hot for teacher. _   


“So, what’re we going to do?” Nicole asks, looking over the edge of the coffee mug she’s holding.

Styx tips his head to one side, a high ear in the air.

Nicole sighs. “I don’t know either.”

It’s Tuesday, and her first day off in the middle of the week since the school year started. Waverly had left this morning with a soft kiss and a promise to not stay too late after the last bell like she has been. 

“It’s my day off,” Nicole had reminded her, dropping an extra Jos Louis into the brown paper bag lunch she had put together for Waverly.

“I  _ promise _ ,” Waverly repeated, a slight edge to her voice.

“We’ve just both been so tired at night lately that I feel like I haven’t even seen you.” Nicole winced, knowing she was digging herself a little deeper. Waverly was excited about her first real job, and feeling years behind the other teachers, spending hours before and after school in her classroom making lesson plans and decorating the barren space that Cryderman had left behind when he retired. 

Waverly tensed a little. “I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

“I know,” Nicole said quickly. “I’m sorry.” She pressed the brown paper bag into Waverly’s hands. “I’ll make dinner tonight, okay? Anything you want.”

Waverly narrowed her eyes. “Get Chinese take-out from Chu’s, and we’ll watch last week’s  _ Due South _ .”

Nicole grinned. “Deal.” She kissed Waverly softly. “Go get ‘em, baby.”

Waverly rolled her eyes. “We’re still just working on introductions and creating our classroom flag.” She sighed. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to make some of those kids  _ stop _ drawing penises on theirs?”

Nicole snorted before she frowned. “Someone has been tagging the side of the Farm Boy, drawing… those.”

Waverly shook her head. “I’m nearly positive it wasn’t JJ Cooper tagging the Farm Boy.”

Nicole thought about it for a minute. “No,” she agreed. “But Noah Cooper might have been.”

Styx drops his head and pushes his nose into her thigh, pulling her back around. She idly scratches his head while she watches the weather roll across the television screen.

“Wynonna is on campus all day,” she continues after the news channel goes to commercial. “But we could go see the Sheriff?”

Styx perks up a bit at the mention of Nedley.

Nicole sighs. “No.”

Styx drops his head again.

“He’d probably shoot me on sight,” she admits. Nedley had expressly forbid her from coming in today after he found out she spent the last two days she had off in the Archive Room, reworking the system and its flaws. “Or we can stop by The Patch?”

The phone rings and Nicole jumps a little, her coffee sloshing over the side of the mug. It lands on her pajama pants, soaking in.

“Shit,” she hisses. She puts the mug down and takes a few, quick steps into the kitchen, grabbing the phone with one hand and stretching the cord as she reaches for a paper towel with the other. “Haught and Earp Residence?”

“Is that how you really answer the phone?”

Nicole sighs. “Wynonna.”

“I’m just asking because it sounds stupid.”

“What do you want?” Nicole looks at the clock. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“No class today,” Wynonna sings. “I’m working on my model business with that chick from Camrose instead.”

Nicole pats at her leg, trying to soak up the coffee. “So go work on that.”

Wynonna sighs heavily in her ear. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Nicole wrinkles her nose. “I’m not doing your laundry again.”

“ _ Good _ . My underwear were so starched I couldn’t even wear them.”

Nicole groans and drops her head down, her forehead against the wall. “Wynonna.”

“Honest!” Wynonna continues. “It was like stepping into plastic. Are  _ your _ underwear that stiff?” There’s a scratching sound as Wynonna moves the phone away from her mouth, probably closing her hand over the mouthpiece. “Oh, no. It’s not my boyfriend. He doesn’t wear underwear.”

“ _ Wynonna _ ,” Nicole hisses.

“Anyway, I have a real favor,” Wynonna says, her voice clear again. “I think I left my business textbook at the garage when Doc and I were ‘testing’ out the backseat on this sweet 1976 Olds-”

Nicole sticks her finger in her ear not against the receiver and starts singing. “ _ I’m not listening, I’m not listening _ .”

“But!” Wynonna shouts into the phone, getting her attention again. “He’s not answering the phone, and I really need to know if it’s there or not.”

Nicole sighs. “It’s my day off.”

“That’s why I called, dweeb.”

Nicole chews on her bottom lip for a moment before nodding to herself. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Wynonna whoops loudly into the line. Nicole winces and pulls the phone away from her ear.

“You’re the best, bye,” Wynonna sings before there’s a soft click and a dial tone.

Nicole sighs and hangs the phone up slowly. “Well, looks like we’re headed to the garage,” she tells Styx.

She pulls a pair of jeans out of the closet, cuffing them tightly at the bottom. She makes a note to lay off the spray-starch a little; she does two deep squats before she can even move in her jeans. She finds a wide black belt in the closet and threads it through her belt loops, tucking her white undershirt in tight enough so that it doesn’t move. She frowns as she stares at her flannels; the one she wants is in the laundry pile, but her black and white checkered one is fine.

Nicole clicks her tongue after she pulls on her Chippewa boots and laces them. Styx comes bounding off the couch, nails sliding a little across the floor.

“Maybe we’ll grab him some lunch, first, though,” Nicole says as she follows Styx down the back steps of the apartment above The Patch. “That wasn’t code for ‘you get bacon’,” she tells him as they walk behind Bobo’s 1983 Glenfrome Facet. She shudders as she passes it, trying to figure out what Bobo finds appealing about the rock-on-wheels. 

“It’s like a Triumph and a Jeep had a malformed baby they couldn’t get rid of,” Wynonna had said when Bobo first drove it to work.

“ _ Malformed _ ,” Waverly repeated.

“That’s a big word,” Nicole added.

Wynonna grinned. “Yeah, I just learned it.”

Nicole laughed and clapped Wynonna on the shoulder. “Well, good for you.”

Styx edges past the Facet, growling softly.  _ Even he hates it _ , Nicole thinks. Styx lets himself into the kitchen through the screen door, batting at it with his paw until it swings enough for him to slip in. Nicole shakes her head; she really needs to tell Gus he can’t just let himself into the kitchen like that, but every time she tries, Gus gives her some kind of lecture about who the owner is and denying her access to her grandson.

“Who’s a good boy?” Bobo is asking Styx as Nicole steps into the kitchen. “Is it you? Are you a good boy?”

Nicole snorts. Bobo is on his knees in the middle of the room, a piece of bacon in one hand, and Styx sitting patiently in front of him. His tail is thumping furiously, creating a small wind tunnel behind him. A napkin drifts across the room and Nicole steps on it, stopping it before she picks it up.

“Hey, girl,” Bobo says over his shoulder. “Boss Junior isn’t here today.”

“I know,” Nicole says. “I was hoping I could pick up some lunch to go.”

Bobo tosses the piece of bacon high into the air and Styx lets it drop before he goes after it, the piece disappearing instantly. “Sure thing. What’d you want?”

Nicole leans back against the wall by the swinging door, snapping her fingers. Styx comes and sits at her side, his muzzle against her hand briefly. “My usual. And Doc’s?” She winces. “And Rosita’s?”

Bobo shakes his head. “John Henry Holliday too chicken to come in here himself?”

“Someone say ‘Holliday’?” Gus asks, coming through the kitchen. “I thought I heard you come in.”

Nicole raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

Gus rolls her eyes. “No. Those CCTV cameras Wynonna had me install told me.”

Nicole straightens up. “Did you get the ones with the motion-”

“Yes,” Gus says over her. “Please,” she begs, a hand up. “Don’t go ranting and raving over security measures again. I barely survived the last time you and Wynonna cornered me about it.”

“I like security measures,” Nicole mutters under her breath.

Gus ignores her, kneeling down to scratch Styx behind the ears. “This is all the security I need, isn’t it?”

Nicole rolls her eyes and trades song trivia with Bobo while he makes her food. 

“Did you know that the opening laugh in “Hungry Like The Wolf” is Nick Rhodes’s girlfriend?” she offers.

“‘Relax’ by Frankie Goes To Hollywood was banned in the UK because of its lyrics,” Bobo counters as he packs fries into a to-go container. 

Nicole opens a paper bag, stacking containers inside of it. “Really?”

Bobo nods. “Back in ‘84.” He hands her the last container, a cheeseburger for Doc, and she adds it to her bag. “Something about it being sexually suggestive.”

“Are you leaving him here?” Gus asks, nodding at Styx.

Nicole shakes her head. “Tomorrow?”

“I’ll settle for that,” Gus decides. She tosses some ketchup packets into the bag Nicole is carrying. “John Henry likes ketchup, doesn’t he?” she asks, an edge to her voice like she’s daring Nicole to say something. “Now, get.”

Nicole grins and clicks her tongue to get Styx’s attention, getting into her car and settling the food carefully in the backseat. Styx alternates between sticking his head out of the window to take in Purgatory, and leaning over the back of the front seat, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he catches the scent of the bacon Bobo added to the bag, just for him.

She pulls into Bustillos and Holliday Motors, parking her Bonneville just outside the open bay doors. Doc has really embraced the partnership thing, convincing Old Man Bustillos to put a fresh coat of paint on the outside of the building and to let a few of the high school students make a mural on the broad side, facing the street. There’s a couple of Blue Devils hanging around outside on the tires stacked by the bay doors - younger ones that Nicole knows only by name. Styx pads over to them, sniffing. Nicole waves at them, shielding her hand against the sun.

“Hey, Officer Haught,” Moses Thorton calls out. He scratches Styx behind the ears.

“Just Nicole, Moses,” she tells him. “I’m not in uniform today. Doc around?”

Moses hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “He and the boss lady are working on this  _ sweet _ 1953 Hudson Hornet Hollywood Hardtop in the back.”

Nicole smiles crookedly. “Great, thanks.” She looks at Styx, already involved in a game of tug ‘o war with one of the boys, Fletch Callahan, and his bandana. “Styx, stop.”

Fletch shakes his head. “It’s okay, Officer Haught. I don’t mind. I’ve got other one at home.”

Nicole pauses for a minute, but nods. “Okay. You boys keep an eye on him, okay? And send him back here when you leave.” She winds her way through the garage, sidestepping jacks and tool carts and electrical cords. She can hear Scorpions’ “Love At First Sting” playing from the back corner of the warehouse-garage, and she follows the music around the front of the Hudson Moses mentioned. She whistles low; he wasn’t lying. The bright blue and white-top Hudson is pretty clutch.

“Nicole!” Doc says, spotting her. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” He wipes his greasy hands on a rag tied to his coveralls.

Nicole holds up the paper bag. “Lunch.”

“Did someone say food?” Rosita asks, sliding out of the front seat. She grabs for the bag. “God, I’m  _ starving _ .”

Doc shakes his head fondly. “I apologize. Some mechanics are Neanderthals.”

“Only the pretty ones,” Rosita sings.

Doc makes a face at her, slicking a hand back through his hair. Nicole winces involuntarily, imagining all of that grease on his hands. “I will have you know, I am the prettiest mechanic we have. Pearl Kirk said so just the other day.”

“That’s because Pearl Kirk is blind,” Rosita fires back. “She also thinks Bobo is a male model.”

Nicole gags. “That’s…”

Rosita shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve seen him without that apron on. He’s not bad-looking.”

Nicole gags again, reaching for the to-go container Rosita hands her. “Please. I’m going to eat.”

Doc disappears into the small office on the side of the garage. The music fades to a soft hum, and Nicole turns around to see Doc rolling the office chair over in her direction. He nudges it in front of her. “I won’t make you sit on the workbenches,” he says politely.

Nicole smiles gratefully. 

Styx comes trotting over, picking up the pace as he catches sight of Doc. He licks Doc’s hand happily, standing up on his back legs to try and lick Doc’s face. Doc laughs and firmly commands Styx down, scratching his head gently. Rosita gets her own hello lick before Styx settles down around the wheels of Nicole’s chair.

Nicole opens her lunch, and her stomach rumbles. Bobo added pickles to her order, and she picks them off her french fries, handing them wordlessly to Doc, not bothering to look up. He takes them silently, popping them in his mouth without hesitation. They settle into a comfortable silence, only broken by the odd snap of a piece of bacon or crispy french fry.

Nicole leans back in the office chair, meeting Doc’s eyes with a smile. It’s been a few weeks since they’ve had lunch together, a habit they started when Wynonna enrolled in school. At first, it was just to keep each other company - Waverly had trainings all summer, for her new job, and Nicole had been bored without Wynonna around. She noticed that Doc would work the whole day without eating if Wynonna didn’t remind him, so wrapped up in an engine or a paint job that he forgot. But there was a reason she’s always been friends with Doc, and the summer had been nice, hanging out together to complain about the number of papers Wynonna had or the hours she was spending on homework.

They’ve both loved the same woman their whole lives, and there’s no one who knows Wynonna like they do.

“Didn’t want to pick Waverly up for lunch?” Rosita asks through a mouthful of hamburger meat.

“She’s busy,” Nicole says, drumming her fingers against the armrest of the chair.

Rosita smirks at her. “Heard you did it right the first day of school.”

Nicole feels her face flush. “I didn’t.”

Doc snorts softly.

Nicole narrows her eyes at him. “Something to add?”

He puts his hands up quickly. “I am only saying that-”

“Moses was waiting for his kid brother,” Rosita chimes in. “Said you came in with the sirens on and everything. Opened Waverly’s door, carried her bag. He said you were a real ace about it.”

Nicole ducks her head. “I didn’t run the sirens,” she grumbles.  _ Only the lights _ , she thinks.  _ And just for a moment _ . She couldn’t resist the flash of embarrassment that she knew would come over Waverly’s face before she laughed at the sight - Nicole, in full uniform, picking her up from school on her first day. She  _ had _ carried Waverly’s bag for her, meeting her on the top step and hoisting it over one shoulder. And she  _ had _ opened the car door. 

It was worth it for the way Waverly had come home the next day and bragged about everyone who was mentioning it. “Four or five girls told me it was  _ very _ romantic,” she whispered in Nicole’s ear just before she kissed her. 

Rosita laughs and throws a fry across the garage at her. “You guys are  _ so _ grody.”

“Hey,” Nicole starts to argue.

“You are,” Rosita says over her. “The small town cop and the small town history teacher? It’s like a romantic comedy.”

Nicole shakes her head slowly. “No.”

“Back me up here,” Rosita says to Doc.

Doc smiles bashfully. “I am afraid I cannot disagree with Rosita,” he says slowly.

Rosita  _ whoops _ loudly. “The movie practically writes itself, doesn’t it?” She looks excitedly at Doc. “My mom’s cousin lives in Sacramento, California, and she said they have this channel with, like, really lame romantic movies. They all have religion in them, but I  _ swear _ she told my mom about one where a small town cop falls in love with a small town teacher and they get married and pop out, like, a hundred babies.”

Nicole nearly chokes on a bite of her cheeseburger. “I don’t… Uh…”

Rosita snickers. “You and Waverly should totally write down your story and submit like a movie script. Oh!” She claps her hands together. “I’ll play Waverly.”

“I think Jerry O’Connell would make an excellent Doc Holliday,” Doc adds.

Nicole shakes her head. “And who would play me?”

“Susan Sarandon,” Rosita says quickly. “I would  _ totally _ drive off a cliff for that woman.” Her eyes glaze over and she looks off across the garage.

Nicole turns around, trying to see what she’s looking at, but sinks back into her chair and shakes her head. “That’s just ridiculous.”

“Your wedding is going to be a fairytale,” Rosita finally sighs. “Like the ending of  _ Pretty Woman _ .”

Nicole makes a face. “Neither of us are prostitutes. Or rich,” she adds.

“Not the point,” Rosita says absently. “Or-  _ or _ .” She leans forward, her to-go container flattening a little. “Or it’s like the end of  _ Thelma and Louise, _ and instead of driving off a cliff, me and Susan Sarandon drive away from Purgatory in that  _ bitchin _ ’ cherry red 1973 MGB Roadster we have in bay three.” She sighs dreamily. “The memories we would make.”

“You have made enough memories in that car,” Doc warns.

Nicole’s eyes widen and she whistles. “Oh, what did you do?”

“What  _ didn’t _ I do?” Rosita counters. She winks at Nicole. “Let’s just say, Fletch is never going to look at his dad’s car the same way again.”

Nicole snaps her fingers. “That reminds me.” She points at Doc. “Did Wynonna leave her textbook here?”

Doc’s face flushes red. “Yes,” he mumbles softly. “I think I remember seeing it…” He trails off. “Yes,” he repeats, standing.

“Back to you and your  _ love story _ ,” Rosita sings, popping another french fry into her mouth. “Now, what cheesy love song will be playing for the end credits when me and Susan Sarandon mack on each other?”

Doc snorts and pats Nicole gently on the shoulder, his hand covering her flannel.

Nicole practically throws her to-go container, half of her french fries spilling onto the floor. “Hey!” she shouts, standing up. She pulls at the collar of her shirt, trying to see the shoulder where Doc’s hand has just been. “Your-” She tugs at the end of her sleeve. “Your hands!”

Doc holds them up. “What about them?”

“ _ Grease _ ,” she hisses. She gets her flannel off and holds it up to the overhead fluorescent lights, eyes frantically searching the fabric. “There’s grease all over them!”

Doc winces and wipes his hands down the front of his coveralls. “I assure you that-”

“Grease!” she shouts again, jabbing her finger into a black square. There’s a small splotch of something there. “John Henry!”

Rosita claps her hand over her mouth, hiding her laugh.

Doc glares at Rosita before looking back at Nicole. “I did not mean to leave any residue on your-”

Nicole frowns, angling the flannel in the opposite way and lets out a deep breath. “Okay, nevermind. It was a shadow.”

Doc’s shoulders slump. “Oh, thank heavens.” He takes a quick step back. “I shall retrieve that book for you.”

Nicole pulls her flannel back on slowly, checking the sleeves and making sure they fall just above her elbows.

“Susan Sarandon might not be psycho enough to play you,” Rosita finally says, breaking the silence. “We might need to get someone more like Glenn Close in  _ Fatal Attraction _ .”

Nicole scowls and brushes her hand across her shoulder one more time. “Please. Kathy Bates in  _ Misery _ was much better.”

Rosita throws another french fry at her.

 

-

“Did you want an egg roll?” Nicole calls out, scanning the menu for Chu’s.

Waverly leans around the door of the bedroom. “No. Yes,” she says quickly.

Nicole looks up, her eyebrow raised. “Which one is it?”

Waverly frowns. “Yes,” she finally says, disappearing back into the room.

Nicole jots down two egg rolls on the list she’s making. She taps the pen mindlessly against her pad, matching Van Halen’s  _ 1984 _ cassette. She hums along to the instrumental title track.

Waverly pops her head out into the living room again. “And-”

“Sweet and sour soup,” Nicole finishes. “I know, baby.”

Waverly leans over the back of the couch and kisses the top of Nicole’s head. “Thank you,” she says. “So what did you get up to today?” She slips her arm through one of Nicole’s old flannels, a shirt she’s confiscated and claimed as her own, and disappears into the kitchen.

Nicole watches her go, swallowing hard at the soft shorts Waverly picked out of her drawer, barely visible under the flannel hanging long on her legs. She shakes her head and scans the menu again, unsure why she’s even bothering to look it over. She’s going to get the same thing she always does - vegetable fried rice, an egg roll, and some boneless spare ribs. It’s the only thing she ever gets from Chu’s, and she never wants anything else.

“I’m not going to mess with perfection,” she told Waverly the last time they ordered. “I don’t judge you for your grody sweet and sour soup with peanut butter.”

Waverly had stuck her tongue out at Nicole, but let her watch two episodes of  _ Due South _ without complaining about Paul Gross’s face.

“Wynonna asked me to get her book from the garage, so I took lunch for Doc and Rosita,” Nicole says, putting her pen down.

The song changes, David Lee Roth crooning, “ _ I get up and nothing gets me down _ .  _ You’ve got it tough? I’ve seen the toughest around.” _

“Hey,” Nicole calls out to Waverly. She hears the refrigerator open. “Did you know that A-Ha won  _ six _ times at the MTV Video Music Awards in 1986?” She snorts. “Bobo told me that today.”

“ _ And I know, baby, just how you feel. You gotta roll with the punches, and get to what’s real _ .”

“It’s a good song,” Waverly says defensively.

Nicole can hear the soft  _ pop _ of a soda can opening. “Can you bring me an Orange Crush?” she asks.

Waverly sighs, barely audible, but the refrigerator opens again.

“ _ Can’t you see me standing here? I’ve got my back against the record machine _ .”

“And Rosita slept with Fletch Callahan,” she adds.

“What?” Waverly shouts. “She did?”

_ “I ain’t the worst that you’ve seen. Oh, can’t you see what I mean? _ ”

Nicole nods as Waverly comes back into the living room. “Right?”

“ _ Might as well jump!” _

Waverly puts down the cans of soda in her hand and grins at Nicole before leaping up and over, landing hard on Nicole’s leg.

“ _ Go ahead and jump _ .”

Nicole yelps, her hands moving to Waverly’s waist instinctively. “What the  _ hell _ ?” she hisses.

“The song said to ‘jump’,” Waverly says, frowning softly. 

Nicole tries to breathe evenly. “Right,” she says, her voice breaking. “Maybe not into my knee, next time?”

Waverly scrambles back over the couch cushions. “Oh, no. Are you okay?” She runs her hands up and down Nicole’s leg, her fingers moving quickly over Nicole’s knee. “Did I break anything?”

Nicole winces as Waverly presses down on a spot she already knows is bruising. “No,” she says, grinding her back teeth together. “But I’m definitely not calling to order,” she continues.

Waverly winces and takes the pad from Nicole silently, kissing her cheek softly as she gets off the couch. Nicole stretches her leg out, grimacing a little.

Waverly calls and places the delivery order and pouts when Tommy, the Chus’ son, tells them that one of their delivery cars is broken down, so orders are a little behind tonight and it’ll be about an hour.

“More  _ Due South _ , then,” Nicole grins.

Waverly shakes her head before Nicole finishes her sentence. “ _ One _ episode of  _ Due South _ , and then something  _ I _ want to watch.” She swipes the remote control off the coffee table, setting it down on the stereo. “But nothing until dinner.”

Nicole groans. “Waves-”

Waverly shakes her head firmly. “No.”

“Jump” transitions to “Panama” and Nicole scowls when she realizes she’s singing along without meaning to. Waverly picks up a book she’s reading, something about the founding of Purgatory that she spotted in the back corner of the library at the high school, and flips through it until she gets to her bookmark. She smiles and Nicole and nudges Styx until he makes some room on the couch for her to fit, her feet tucked under Nicole’s thigh and her back against the arm of the couch. She stares pointedly at Nicole for an entire chorus before she sighs heavily and picks up the  _ Ottawa Citizen _ she brought home from the post office, tossing it at Nicole.

“There’s a follow up article about that shooting in Toronto,” Waverly says.

“The Just Desserts shooting?” Nicole asks, turning the pages of the newspaper. She drapes it across her legs, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

Styx whines softly and jumps off the couch, curling up on the floor next to his giant brown teddy bear with its ugly pink bow.

Waverly nods, eyes already focused on her book. 

They get through “Top Jimmy” and “Drop Dead Legs,” and then the tape clicks off, Side A completely run to the end of the ribbon. Nicole looks up from the newspaper, her eyes swimming for a moment as she looks away from the small newsprint font. She checks her Casio and frowns. “They’re really behind tonight.”

Waverly grabs Nicole’s arm, twisting it around so she can check Nicole’s watch. “It’s been 15 minutes.”

“It usually only takes ten,” Nicole whines. “It’s why we wait to order until we’re hungry.”

Waverly rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Nicole scowls and flicks Waverly’s ankle. “Don’t be a dweeb.”

Waverly smiles crookedly. “Baby, I’ve always been a dweeb.” She shifts, pulling her feet out from under Nicole and lifting up on her knees, hovering over Nicole. “Like Wynonna always said,” she breathes out against Nicole’s mouth just before she kisses her.

“Don’t talk about Wynonna while we’re kissing,” Nicole murmurs back. “It kills the mood.”

Waverly pulls back, laughing. “The  _ mood _ ?”

Nicole feels her face flush. After their lunches had been polished off, Nicole had stuck around the garage, sitting on a creeper that she cleaned off, sliding back and forth across the smooth garage floors, talking with Doc. He had mentioned to her that Wynonna was working extra hard lately, splitting her time between The Patch and school, and he wanted to  _ woo _ her. Nicole had rolled under the nearest car and laughed before she realized he was serious and looking for advice.

“Doc said it earlier,” Nicole says defensively.

“So you’re taking romance tips from Doc, now?”

Nicole rolls her eyes and reaches up, tucking a strand of hair back behind Waverly’s ear. “He might have  _ some _ idea about romantic things. He  _ has _ managed to stay with Wynonna for, like, almost over fifteen years.”

“I don’t know,” Waverly says, her body leaning into Nicole’s touch. “You’re pretty romantic yourself.”

“Am I?” Nicole asks, fighting a smile.

“Of course you-” Waverly cuts herself off, eyes narrowing. “You already know you are,” she accuses.

Nicole shrugs a shoulder, smiling widely. “Doesn’t hurt to hear it.”

Waverly swats at her shoulder lightly and climbs off the couch, moving to the stereo. She hits ‘eject’ and takes the tape out of the deck, turning it over. She reads the tape and makes a noise in the back of her throat before she slides it back in and presses ‘play.’

Nicole looks back down at her newspaper. The Just Desserts shooting had been a big deal in Toronto, and she was interested to see how the case would play out.

Side B of  _ 1984 _ finally starts, the telltale clacking of fingers against a keyboard piercing through her concentration.

Nicole looks up and feels her mouth go dry. “What… What’re you doing?”

Waverly purses her lips and shrugs a shoulder, one hand curled around the platt of the flannel she’s wearing. “I don’t want to read about Purgatory anymore,” she says slowly. “Do you?”

The newspaper crinkles as Nicole’s grip tightens. “I’m reading about the Just Desserts shooting,” she says absently, unable to look away from the small sliver of skin at Waverly’s collarbone.

“Why don’t you put that down,” Waverly suggests. She pulls the front of the flannel tighter around her body, the fabric fitting to the curve of her hips. “And pay attention to me.”

Nicole swallows heavily. “What-”

Waverly shushes her. 

“ _ Oh wow, man. Wait a second man. Whaddaya think the teacher's gonna look like this year? My butt, man _ ,” Van Halen starts. 

Waverly snorts softly, spinning to one side. The ends of her flannel flutter around her. The music is too fast for the way Waverly sways back and forth, but Nicole doesn’t mind, eyes lingering on the to and fro of Waverly’s hips. The flannel shirt moves across the top of her thighs, and Nicole feels the rough newspaper under her hands, wishing she could replace it with the smooth skin of Waverly’s legs.

“ _ Oh yeah. T-T-Teacher, stop that screaming. Teacher don't you see? Don't want to be no uptown fool, maybe I should go to hell, but I'm doin' well. Teacher needs to see me after school _ ,” Waverly sings along. She shrugs a shoulder, letting the flannel fall and rest on her upper arm. She’s wearing a ribbed tank top underneath, something else she took from Nicole’s dresser drawer.

Nicole folds the newspaper back over, dropping it onto the coffee table. “Are you-”

“ _ I think of all the education that I missed, but then my homework was never quite like this _ ,” Waverly sings over her.

The other shoulder drops, the flannel sliding down her bare arm. It pools at her elbows, the collar hanging low on the small of her back. Waverly saunters forward, hips still swaying as she mouths the words to the song. She lets the flannel fall to her wrists, slipping it over one hand. She frees her other hand just as she reaches the edge of the couch, lifting the flannel and throwing it behind Nicole’s head, catching the crook of her neck, and using it to propel herself forward. 

“ _ Ow, got it bad, got it bad, got it bad, I'm hot for teacher. _ ”

Nicole’s hands rest on Waverly’s hips lightly as Waverly settles in her lap, a knee on either side of Nicole’s legs. Waverly rocks her hips forward, and Nicole’s hands twitch. 

“Technically,” Nicole starts.

Waverly shushes her again, grabbing Nicole’s hands and moving them purposefully up her side, pushing her tank top higher.  

“ _ I got it bad, so bad. I'm hot for teacher. _ ”

Waverly pushes Nicole’s hands away, reaching down for the hem of her own tank. She pulls it up and over her head, tossing it behind the back of the couch. Nicole can feel her own skin burning as Waverly reaches for her hands again, putting them back. Nicole smoothes her fingers over Waverly’s stomach, the tips brushing against the soft cotton of Waverly’s bra. 

“ _ Hey, I heard you missed us. We're back. I brought my pencil, gimme something to write on, man. _ ”

Waverly leans in, her teeth scraping against Nicole’s ear for a moment. “Let’s go to bed,” she breathes.

“ _ Uh uh, I heard about your lessons, but lessons are so cold. I know about this school _ ,” Roth sings. 

Nicole slides her hands under Waverly’s thighs, her fingers digging into Waverly’s skin. 

_ “Little girl from Cherry Lane, how did you get so bold? How did you know that golden rule? _ ”

She gets a grip and stands slowly, holding Waverly close to her as she shuffles around the coffee table and back towards their bedroom. She drops Waverly onto their bed and turns to kick the door shut - Wynonna doesn’t always knock and  _ wait _ when she comes over, and they’ve learned the hard way to put as many obstacles between Wynonna and them when they want some alone time.

Waverly reaches for the hem of Nicole’s shirt, pulling her forward and down. Nicole tries to land to the side, planting her hands on the mattress. Waverly’s hands work up under her shirt, over the straps of her sports bra and around the tops of her shoulders. Her shirt rides up, and Nicole can feel Waverly’s skin against her own.

David Lee Roth is still singing in the living room: “ _ I think of all the education that I missed, but then my homework was never quite like this _ .  _ Ow, got it bad, got it bad, got it bad, I'm hot for teacher. I got it bad, so bad. I'm hot for teacher. _ ”

Waverly pushes at Nicole’s shoulders until there’s enough room between them to get Nicole’s shirt up and over her head. Nicole hooks her fingers behind the waistband of Waverly’s shorts and tugs until Waverly can kick them off. There’s something frantic about the way Waverly moves, like she’s finally matching the tempo of the song, and she tugs at Nicole’s jeans impatiently. 

Nicole has to stand to get them off, peeling them down over her feet. Waverly sits up impatiently, eyes tracing over every part of Nicole’s body. She feels herself shiver a little under Waverly’s gaze, but she lingers at the edge of the bed anyway.

“Come on,” Waverly says impatiently, reaching for Nicole.

Nicole steps back, shaking her head. She can just about hear the song playing, and they’re working through the mid-song instrumental. She waits until the lyrics start again, and then she kneels down, breathing the words into Waverly’s mouth.

“ _ I got it bad, so bad, I'm hot for teacher, whoa. _ ”

Their bodies press together, and Nicole never gets used to this; never gets tired of the feel of Waverly beneath her or above her or next to her, skin on skin. She runs her hands over every part of Waverly she can touch, trailing her fingers up and over and swirling them into shapes.

She traces out an ‘N’ and a ‘W’ and traps them in a heart-shape right over Waverly’s ribcage.

Waverly exhales slowly, hot air against Nicole’s cheek. “Baby…”

Nicole shushes her this time, kissing her softly. “Let me.”

Waverly stares at her, eyelids heavy, and finally nods.

Nicole kisses her way down Waverly’s body, slow and hot and heavy against her chest, over the swell of her breasts, and down to her waistline. She scrapes her teeth against Waverly’s hipbone, smiling into her skin when Waverly’s hips jump. 

She looks up, wetting her bottom lip, and meets Waverly’s eye. Waverly’s chest is heaving, one hand dancing over Nicole’s hand on her hip, and the other gripping the edge of the pillow. Nicole leans in, Waverly’s thighs muffling Van Halen as Waverly’s body moves under her mouth. She hums along to the song, and Waverly gasps, a breathy noise that catches in her throat and never quite makes it out. 

It’s a blur - Waverly’s hands in her hair and a heel against her shoulder. She can feel Waverly’s body tensing beneath her, arched up against Nicole’s, and then Waverly is boneless, sagging into the mattress with a soft cry. Nicole strokes her fingers along the inside of Waverly’s thigh, feeling her leg twitch softly.

Nicole slides up the mattress, planting kisses along Waverly’s side and up the center of her chest to the top of her jaw, right below her ear. Waverly’s fingernails scratch at her back, digging in just enough to make Nicole shiver.

“I think you wooed me,” Nicole admits.

“Seduced you,” Waverly corrects. “Unless we have different definitions of the word ‘woo.’” She bites down on her bottom lip. “In which case, I should have let you woo  _ me _ .”

Nicole rolls her eyes and grabs Waverly’s hand, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm.

Waverly smiles softly at her, reaching up with her free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Nicole’s ear. She opens her mouth to say something, but pauses, head tipped to the side. “Do you hear that?”

_ Knock, knock, knock _ .

“Who the hell is-” Nicole pauses. “Chinese,” she mutters. “Oh, god. The Chinese food is here.” 

Waverly rolls over and presses her face into her pillow. “I can’t answer the door like this. Tommy is in my fourth period class.” She smiles hopefully at Nicole. “But you can go get it, and after dinner, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Nicole groans, sitting up. “I was going to get it anyway,” she grumbles, only half-annoyed. She runs a hand through her hair, twisting and placing her feet on the floor. She shivers a little, but gets up and finds a pair of sweatpants in her drawer. She picks her shirt up off the floor, tugging it on without bothering to find her bra first.

“Dinner in here?” she asks, pausing in the doorway.

Waverly sits up, pulling the bedsheet around her waist. “And no  _ Due South _ tonight?”

Nicole swallows hard, shaking her head slowly. “Not on the TV, anyway,” she murmurs.

Waverly tips her head to one side. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nicole says quickly. “I’m going to get the Chinese food.  _ Don’t _ move.” She slips out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, and sags back against it. She takes a deep breath, laughs, and shakes her head.

“Thank you, Van Halen,” she whispers, eyes looking up. “For having the perfect songs for the perfect times. I hope someday David Lee Roth comes back, and you someday get inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.” She pauses. “Amen.”

_ Knock, knock, knock _ .

“Officer Haught?” Tommy Chu says through the door. “It’s Tommy.”

Nicole startles at the sound. “Coming!” She pulls the door open, picking her wallet up off the end table next to her keys. “Hey, Tommy.”

Tommy smiles at her. “Sorry about the wait, Officer Haught.”

Nicole pulls too many bills out of her wallet and shoves them into his hand, taking the brown paper bag from him. “Oh, it’s okay.”

“I hope it wasn’t too long,” Tommy continues, starting to count out change.

Nicole shakes her head. “No, keep it.”

Tommy frowns. “No way. I can’t-”

“Keep it,” Nicole repeats. “Don’t worry. We, uh, didn’t mind the wait.” She feels her face flush. “Night, Tommy.”

Tommy looks up from the money at her with wide eyes. “Goodnight, Officer Haught,” he says slowly.

“A good night,” Nicole murmurs to herself as she shuts the door. She smiles. “A really good night.”


End file.
